


Imagine you’re a narcissistic man.....

by imagineyourepregnant



Category: Original Work
Genre: Birth Fetish, Breeding Kink, Childbirth, Demons, F/M, Forced Pregnancy, Impregnation, Lactation, Lactation Kink, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, labor fetish, multiples pregnancy, rapid pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 08:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16720152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagineyourepregnant/pseuds/imagineyourepregnant





	Imagine you’re a narcissistic man.....

Imagine you’re a narcissistic man and you’re being fucked by a succubus wearing your form. She teases you and denies you your orgasm until you beg her to cum in you. You wake up with little recollection of the dream and the hardest morning wood you’ve ever had.

It starts slow. Your female coworkers comment on your ass and hips, saying how shapely you are. You eat more unusual foods as time goes on and in mass amounts. You’re more prone to odd mood outbursts. Whatever. That doesn’t matter.

When you start gaining weight on your midsection and chest, you think it just means you need to head to the gym more often. You can’t get rid of the weight. It makes you cry sometimes. You soldier on.

Then you start lactating and you realize what’s going on. You’re pregnant! But how? Afraid that someone will send you to a scientists to be dissected, you cash in your vacation days and take off of work. You refuse to leave the house. You’re too scared and too disgusted by what you’ve become.

Your pregnancy seems to progress in weeks instead of months. You’ve been doing a LOT of research. When nine weeks hits–and you’ve since quit your job–you haven’t given birth. Then ten weeks. Then eleven. Then twelve. You’re so gravid you can barely move. You can’t see your toes. You can’t bend over. Your penis is fucking dwarfed by the size of your stomach and tits. You cry so much now.

She appears again, on the eve of your eighteenth week of pregnancy, and taunts you. She’s wearing your old form still and she strokes herself openly as she asks if you still love yourself. You say no and wail about how no one could ever love someone like you. She smiles and says she loves how you look now. Then she asks if you wish to give birth. You beg for it, asking her to let you birth her children. You want them gone. You want to return to normality. She leans close, traces a finger against your swollen belly, and says, “then have at it.”

The birth is long and painful. You scream and cry the entire time but the succubus never leaves your side. She encourages you the entire time, despite being hard as a rock. When you’ve given birth to two toddler demon children–who immediately latch on to your dripping teats–she kisses you on the forehead and pats you gently. She promises she’ll be back. She loves you, after all, but only that you.

The rest of your life is spent breeding and giving birth for her. You never cry about it again.


End file.
